


Children, not Atlas

by JayD



Series: Fuel for Fire [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, One Shot, Protective Iroh (Avatar), Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Zuko (Avatar) Gets a Hug, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, an army of turtle ducks are mentioned at one point, for now, no beta we die like men, prince ‘i’m allergic to vulnerability’ zuko, well meaning guards express concern over the crown prince’s deteriorating mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28473228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayD/pseuds/JayD
Summary: “Good evening Uncle,” He starts, and hesitating for a beat, Zuko dips his head in greeting to Ozai, not meeting his eyes, “Good evening, f-father.”He stumbles slightly on the word, because Zuko had recently stopped associating ‘father’ with Ozai and going back into that habit might actually kill him on the inside.If Ozai minded the slip, he doesn’t mention it. In fact, he doesn’t pay Zuko much attention, and he’s all the more grateful for it.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Fuel for Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085552
Comments: 31
Kudos: 475
Collections: The Best of Zuko





	Children, not Atlas

**Author's Note:**

> i haven’t seen much time travel in the atla fandom so i just wanna contribute this little thing! it’s a one shot for now bc i know i won’t have time to commit to this fanfic, not with my final exams coming up and the assignments i’ve pushed behind and the internship that i’m absolutely not looking forward to doing and, you know, adulting in general wow i really want to not exist sometimes, but hey!! enjoy this fic!!!

He dies, desperately trying to stop Katara’s tears with weak hands and bloodied fingers, and then he shoots up from his old childhood bed with a scream tipping over the cliff of his tongue.

He accidentally sets his covers on fire.

—

Self-reflection is difficult when he’s actively repressing his trauma and he’s done a lot of the whole _thinking about his past and criticising everything he’s ever done_ while riding an ostrich, starved as he was, to last another lifetime and a half. So excluding the rare occasion that he entertains himself by wondering about the possibilities of going back in time to perhaps change a few bad decisions made in honest regret, Zuko does _not_ like his past and he does _not_ want to relive it, thank you very much.

Except.

 _Except_. 

He blinks and the image of his bedroom remains startlingly clear and not at all hazy like most of his memories, with the palace courtyard gone and along with it, Azula too. Her untamed, desperate look as she attempted her tried and true best to get rid of Zuko _permanently_ this time has dissipated into the red and gold of his curtains and tapestry.

He’s not in an Agni Kai. He’s not battling the younger sister that he’d loved and hated and feared all his life and _he’s not sixteen anymore._

He squeezes his aching hands, eyes riveted on the red marks on his palms, and Zuko squashes down the laugh building hysterically in his chest. The last time his injuries were limited to _just_ this was when he’d been too young and too dumb and too _useless_ for his tutors, and while the ruler never hurt as much as their sneers do, Zuko was only five when he came to the conclusion that he was born in this world to be _hated_. He’d gotten used to it, but it had still left cuts into his psyche, perpetually bleeding wounds that he could never stitch together, could never cauterise with his own fire. Crying had been reserved for Thursdays when Azula had physical training because then, she would return early to her own quarters, meaning Zuko can sniffle pathetically into his pillows without her making him feel even more useless than he usually did. 

Breathing harshly, (and _oh - the covers still on fire_ , Zuko thinks absentmindedly), limbs too short and too unscarred and mind absolutely refusing to believe the fact that everything he went through, everyone he’s ever lost and gained and loved is _gone_ -

Zuko snuffs out the flames and, in a fit of desperation, summons something he knew was from the future and the future alone.

A dragon dances between his fingers, flicking and twirling gently, a kaleidoscope of colours that he’d only ever seen standing at the summit where his predecessors had lived, had survived.

Zuko _breaks_ and he _laughs_ , loud and bright and borderline insane because _when the honest fuck is he ever gonna get a break._

—

Uncle comes to the palace the next day, a gentle smile on his face serving to hide the grief that he was currently wearing like a plague. He looks simultaneously worse and better than he had been before Lu Ten died, worse because losing a son will always hurt and better, because he seems to have found his footing in this world. He then realises it must have been two months since he’d abandoned his Siege at Ba Sing se.

Zuko swallows down the urge to cry, because this was the man he’d be betrayed in the future, the man that Zuko had hurt far more than anyone else. He’d always wondered how his life would’ve went, if he’d taken Aang’s side in the cave instead of Azula's.

He never even got to say _goodbye_.

 _I’m going to be better,_ Zuko says to himself, to the spirits, to anything that was listening to him, _He deserves better._

Uncle sees him hiding from behind one of the pillars and he’s suddenly struck by the way his uncle’s eyes seemed to brighten considerably.

“Prince Zuko! You have grown!”

Zuko blushes and hides even further, fingers gripping the concrete tight. He doesn’t know what to say, too much guilt and regret coiled in between the spaces of his ribs to do anything but clam up.

Uncle laughs at that, slightly surprised, “And much more shy too!” He appears right beside Zuko and Zuko yelps, falling onto his bum. Uncle bends down, mirth chasing away the lament in his eyes, and Zuko feels a little better about his embarrassment, just a tiny bit, “It seems that I really _have_ been gone for a long time.”

It was said quietly, regretfully, and Zuko decides that no, the only person that should have any regrets is _him_. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Zuko blinks up at him and musters up a small smile, “Welcome home, Uncle.”

Uncle blinks at that, and the smile he gives in return was more genuine, a candour that was uniquely _his_ in the future.

Zuko closes his eyes when Uncle ruffles his hair, only opening them once his Uncle speaks again.

“I am glad to be back, my prince.”

—

Uncle leaves briefly to meet with Ozai and Zuko is suddenly hit by the realisation that he’s still scar free.

 _I haven’t been banished yet_ , he thinks, and then laughs because he’s already expecting to be tossed out of the Fire Nation. Like there wasn’t anything else he can do, like it wasn’t two years away.

He retires into his room immediately and promptly dissolves into a complete mental breakdown. 

He doesn’t know if he wants to go through that again - the humiliation, the self-hatred - but his capacity for self-sabotage had always been boundless and seeing as his banishment lead to him becoming a marginally better person, it might even be a _good thing_. He should do it, because it will lead him to Aang, to his friends, but Zuko has been burned once and while that was in the future that no longer exists, pain is timeless and it follows Zuko even six years into the past.

 _I don’t want to be burned,_ he thinks, hands flying to his ears, trying to block out the world, _I don’t want to stay here._

Zuko vowed to be better but when you’re a remnant of a future that you absolutely cannot allow to happen, he thinks he’s allowed to have an existential crisis along the journey, maybe once or twice. A few bumps in the road should hardly matter in the grand scheme of things. Hopefully.

He’s bone-weary and lethargic when he comes out of his bedroom for dinner, dragging his feet to the main dining room. He hesitates at the threshold.

For the first time in perhaps forever, Ozai sat by the head, with Uncle taking the seat to his left. Zuko, as the heir, should sit to his father’s right, but he doesn’t want to sit anywhere near the man - refuses to be within arms reach lest his face was _burned again -_

“Ah, Prince Zuko, come sit beside me!” It’s Uncle that comes to his rescue, and Zuko silently breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn’t see Azula yet, and no doubt, she’d take the seat to Ozai’s right, but he doesn’t really care, so he makes a beeline towards his Uncle and lets himself feel at ease.

Uncle’s smile was gentle and comforting and Zuko basks in the warmth that the man was sparing him.

“Good evening Uncle,” He starts and hesitating for a beat, Zuko dips his head in greeting to Ozai, not meeting his eyes, “Good evening, f-father.”

He stumbles slightly on the word, because Zuko had recently stopped associating _father_ with Ozai and going back into that habit might actually kill him on the inside.

If Ozai minded the slip, he doesn’t mention it. In fact, he doesn’t pay Zuko much attention, and he’s all the more grateful for it.

Zuko misses the sharp look that Uncle sends his direction.

That’s when the doors creak open and the flinch that jolts through his entire body once he sees his younger sister, strutting into the dinning room like she owns it, makes him internally cringe. At this age, she’s a lot more innocent, a lot more naive, but she’s also a lot less inclined to hide the cruelty and malice in her gaze when she makes eye contact with Zuko.

She raises an eyebrow at the seating arrangement but doesn’t spare it a second thought. Azula goes to sit by Ozai’s right like she always belonged there, and she gives the man a smile, “Good evening, father.”

Ozai hums, “Azula.”

Azula then turns to face Uncle and Zuko tenses, her innocent act shifting into place as she widens her eyes and hides the sharp teeth behind her demure smile, “Uncle, we’re glad to see you home. How was your... _trip_?”

It was said with barely concealed disdain but Uncle pays it no mind, “Hmmm, it was quite illuminating, Princess. Would you like to join me next time? I’ve learned so much more about tea making.”

Azula’s sneer was quickly covered up with a giggle, “I’m not interested in trivial stuff like that but thanks for the offer anyways. Zuzu here might be more willing though.”

This time, Zuko hides his wince, but keeps quiet.

“Is that so?” Zuko almost startles when he feels Uncle’s hand come to rest on top of his. He hadn’t even realised he was shaking, “Well, if Prince Zuko wishes to experience the joy of tea making, I would be delighted to take him with me.”

Zuko manages to keep his voice relatively stable, “Right,” he says, “Um. Thanks, Uncle.”

Ozai gives him a blank stare that Zuko ignores.

Honestly, he hopes that his Uncle does. Whisk him away from this place that is.

—

So.

Here’s the thing.

Apparently, orchestrating the Fire Nation’s much needed reformation was going to take time and patience because Zuko is _ten._

And also very much traumatised with the knowledge of the future that might come into fruition.

To combat _that_ growing sense of horror, he belly plops on the ground in front of the palace ponds and attempts to suffocate himself by screaming into his sleeves, inhaling more fabric than air and then repeating the process again. His guards had stopped asking if he was alright after Zuko waved them off without stopping his muffled wailing and now, they’ve taken to shooting him concerned looks every few minutes, shuffling uncomfortably by their post because the _Crown Prince has finally lost his goddamn mind._

This is how Uncle finds him half an hour later, face squished against the ground. Somewhere after almost losing his voice and getting his hair pecked by turtleducks, his comfort animals had elected to settle on his back, arms, and head and had fallen asleep, so Zuko can’t actually move, no matter how much he wants to.

“...Nephew?” He hears Uncle say, amusement colouring his tone. Zuko hums but doesn’t say anything back, “Are you alright?”

Zuko does a little wiggle and carefully, gently because he does _not_ want to wake his turtleducks up, he extracts an arm that had gone numb ( _Agni, these ducks were heavy)_ , and gestures vaguely to the army of fluffy monsters using him as a pillow.

Uncle makes a noise, a familiar clearing of the throat that he uses to hide his laughter, and Zuko would be more embarrassed if he wasn’t slowly falling asleep himself.

“Right,” Uncle approaches him, robes shifting against each other, and then the weight on his head and back disappears, “Off you go now, sweet ones. I’d like my nephew back.”

The turtleducks squawk in rightful indignation, beaks clicking furiously. Zuko pushes himself up just in time to see the mother duck kicking her webbed feet against Uncle, who slowly settles her down into the water. He laughs when she nips Uncle’s fingers, the rest of her comrades following suit as they scramble back from Uncle’s careful shooing.

Zuko leans back on his hands, breathless giggles leaving him. Uncle turns to him with one eyebrow raised in mirth, lips turned into a smile that pushes the grief still etched into the creases of his face away.

“You made them mad, Uncle,” He says, grinning, “I didn’t mind. They were nice.”

Uncle makes an undignified snort, knees slowly bending to sit down beside Zuko, “They were using you as a pillow, dear nephew.”

Zuko’s cheeks almost hurt with how much he’s smiling, “I didn’t mind.” He says again.

Uncle shakes his head, huffing. He looks at Zuko, his warm eyes teeming with love, and Zuko startles at the intensity, never realising the extent of how much Uncle truly adored him, loved him, until now.

 _He still looked at me like that_ , Zuko remembers, _Even when I was banished._

Feeling his throat dry up, he averts his gaze shyly, cheeks pinking. His eyes prick at the thought, chest tightening a little.

“Is there…” Zuko’s mouth feels like a desert as he gulps, gaze stuck to the loose thread jutting out of the hem of his sleeves. He flicks his eyes up to Uncle momentarily, just to see that the soft look had never left, and reddens further before dropping to stare intently at his lap, “Did you need me for something, Uncle?”

Uncle hums, a low reverb in his chest, and says, “I just want to spend time with you today, Prince Zuko,” Zuko’s heart squeezes painfully, “Travelling has been enlightening, though I found myself thinking back to you during my loneliness times,” And then more quietly, preciously, he whispers, “I missed you most, my prince.”

Zuko’s face twists at that, a sudden pang of sorrow and grief and loss crashing into his lungs.

Because he is again reminded that _he does not belong in this time._

This Uncle wasn’t the Uncle he’d come to trust in the future, wasn’t the Uncle that had hushed his nightmares to a quiet simmer with a hand carding through his hair. This Uncle was the Uncle that had been in war, that had been grieving for his son, that had left Zuko alone in the palace as a result of his all encompassing loss and while Zuko never begrudged him for that, not at first because he had mourned Lu Ten as well and he understood that Uncle needed space, it wasn’t _Uncle_ who had subsequently lost a mother that night too.

And in the face of his father’s neglect and Azula’s increasingly hostile taunts, (Azula’s blue, _blue_ fire licking his skin -), Zuko had scrambled to piece himself back together - alone and without anyone to support him.

The first few weeks, he prayed to Agni to let Uncle come home, had begged the spirit shamelessly especially on nights when Zuko’s terrors were too loud and too bright for him to cope. As the days rolled by and Uncle still wasn’t by his side, Zuko’s prayers dwindled before stopping completely, an emotion that he’d come to associate as bitterness lodging itself inside the holes that were carved into his heart by the disappearance of Lu Ten and his mother, as they left him to navigate a life of fear without them.

This Uncle may be the Uncle that had Lu Ten ripped away from him too, but he wasn’t the Uncle that had patiently applied burn creams on Zuko’s face, wasn’t the Uncle that had taught him the exact ratio of jasmine leaves to water to make the perfect blend, wasn’t the Uncle that had pulled him back from the darkness that Zuko had been spiralling into ever since he’d been born during the winter solstice, born without a _spark_ , and yet-

Everything that made him _Uncle_ is still there - the love and the admiration and the emotional brutality of his honest confessions that always made him feel so, so vulnerable; an unfortunate side effect despite locking everything that could be used against him into a box, pushed into the deepest corners of his mind and inevitably forgotten until Uncle decides it’s time for _Talking about Zuko’s Mental Health_ again. This Uncle is still the Uncle that he once loved, still loves, the one that had made him feel safe all the same. It’s him and it’s not him and Zuko had missed _Uncle_ , is missing him and he finds that he can’t quite stop the small whine that had taken refuge in his chest from leaving his mouth after Uncle’s quiet admission.

Uncle snaps his eyes up to Zuko who, in dismay, is blinking rapidly to clear the tears that had suddenly surfaced onto his eyes.

“I -” Zuko chokes out, coughing, and Uncle’s look of alarm washes into gentle understanding when Zuko sniffs and says, “I missed you _too_ ,” He’s mortified at how abrupt his emotions had switched but he can’t quite stop the overwhelming feeling of loss and love that had clamped onto his heart like a vice, fingers reaching out to his Uncle like a _child_ , “So much, I - _Uncle-”_

Uncle takes him by the wrist and pulls him into his chest and Zuko wilts, face burying into his robes and inhaling the smell of jasmine that he loves so much. Uncle’s arms meandered around his shoulders, one hand resting against the back of Zuko’s head and _it’s so big_ , he thinks, crying softly, so big because Zuko’s small and in the past and no longer the sixteen year old banished prince who was taller and bigger than all of his friends.

“Oh _nephew_ ,” Uncle whispers in his ear, says his namesake like it’s infinitely precious, cradling him like _he’s_ precious, like he’s someone worth the world and more, “It’s okay. I’m here, I came home, and I am so very sorry it _took so long_.” 

Zuko cries into Uncle’s clothes, fingers clawing at Uncle’s chest, and feels himself _unravel_.

He has so many things to do, so much preparation to be made. He has amends to make and a nation to drag back into _right_ and a father and sister to fight even though he doesn’t want to, is tired of having his family torn apart, is so tired of _war_. 

Zuko has the weight of the world on his shoulders and right now, he is a _child_.

He allows himself to cling onto his uncle just this once.

Saving the world can wait tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts, comments and constructive criticism are welcome!! hoped this wasn’t as rambly as my head was writing this fic!!


End file.
